The Road Not Taken
by alwayswritewithcoffee
Summary: In any universe, they are meant to be together. It's only a matter of time. (Multi-chapter romance set entirely in the AU!Canon reality.)
1. Chapter 1

**I shall be telling this with a sigh**

**Somewhere ages and ages hence:**

**Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—**

**I took the one less traveled by,**

**And that has made all the difference. (The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost)**

She stays with him as he dies, the useless weight of her body fighting a battle that is already lost. Blood is like water, the liquid able to seep through the tiniest hole, remove its life giving abilities with a swiftness that makes her want to gag. There's no plugging the wound, no stopping the inevitable fingers of death when they grip at the writer's arm and give an insistent tug.

Kate works with death. Death has provided every success she's achieved in her adult life. Murder purchased her apartment, her wardrobe, her restored Harley with the custom detailing that she no longer has time to ride.

She's used to staring at lifeless eyes, to the stench of a decaying body, but she's not used to caring. Victims have yet to become meaningless numbers to her, but it's not often now that she sits across from a family and expresses sorrow for their loss.

This one is different. This is someone she knows, someone who wasted his last words professing his love to her when she couldn't even bring herself to use his given name in conversation.

For the first time in a long while, Kate sinks into her claw foot tub and cries when she goes home. Her apartment is a cavern of silence that only makes it worse, remorse and 'what ifs' lurking in the corners, turning usual shadows into the sort of demons that she'd long thought hidden away.

Sitting in a cloud of steam and lavender bubbles, regret and sorrow eat her alive.

* * *

><p>The weather in Manhattan turns bitter overnight, frost blanketing the ground with the assurance that winter is but a few weeks away. Soon, the lingering fall colors will wither and the trees will stand naked, skeleton arms pointed towards a sky that will spend the next few months reflecting various shades of gray.<p>

She dresses for both the cold and her mood; stark black sweater, dark grey wide leg trousers, hair up and away from her face. She doesn't linger with her morning coffee and the newspaper, no desire to read of the death of Richard Castle whether it be front page news or some footnote buried with the 'Weird News' and Letters to the Editor.

Either way, it's going to hurt and Kate can already feel the scars of yet another loss. It's etched onto her skin like a tattoo, up there with her mother and Royce. In some way she even holds herself responsible for Montgomery, though a car accident could hardly be deemed her fault.

It's just the pain of it. That's what she can never let go, why she pushes her detectives so hard. Everyone deserves justice and peace, families and victims alike.

The white lilies she purchases from the florist on her block cost double due to being out of season and prove cumbersome to safely store in her passenger's seat for the commute some eighteen blocks south. Part of her even rebels at the idea of intruding on family grief, yet another familiar feeling in a bevy of emotional horrors.

She could have had them delivered, sent a thoughtful card to express her condolences. She could so easily play the coward, ashamed to confront the family Richard Castle has left behind with his death.

She doesn't want to be a coward, no longer finds herself contented with compromise and ambivalence. If anything, his belief in her, that steadfast confidence and encouragement he offered without asking for any in return, has sparked something inside Kate that she thought long since gone.

Comfort is a fleeting idea, one that she's smart enough not to bother with. No one can comfort you, especially a stranger, when you lose a loved one. It's just a hole that gaps and hurts until, one day, you learn to function around the wound. Life keeps on going, people keep on living, and by virtue of being able to breathe, you are required and expected to do the same.

Kate is only kept waiting for a moment after she's badged herself past the doorman and located the apartment where Richard Castle once lived with his mother, Martha. And she steels herself for this mother and her mourning, terrified of how this eccentric woman will react to her being on her doorstep.

Her son died saving Kate's life and all she can offer her is an apology and a bouquet of flowers. It's woefully inadequate.

"Ms. Rodgers, I don't know if you'll remember me at all, I'm Kate Beckett…." she begins her speech as soon as the door has swung open, shyness and a little bit of shame demanding that Kate begin with her eyes on the floor. It's the tennis shoes that first make her stutter, the dark washed jeans that lie over them not matching any sort of outfit she could imagine the doyenne wearing.

Her senses snap to attention in an instant, eyes darting up to take in the red and black plaid shirt that is unbuttoned, the dark grey t-shirt that lies underneath. There's a lopsided smile, bright blue eyes that are twinkling at her with undisguised curiosity and interest.

There's no familiarity. He doesn't know her, she can feel it in her bones in an exact reversal of two days before when those eyes looked at her like she was his entire life. It's a surprise to discover that she misses it, that walled off portion of herself wilting just a bit with the realization and, a moment later, a slow burn into anger because this man cannot be here. He was shot, he died in front of her. She remembers every second of it, from the thump of his body to the ground, the metallic stench of blood, the whisper of a final breath.

Emotional whiplash tumbles over her, leaving Kate gaping at the writer for a full minute after he asks if she's lost or needs help. In that silence her mind spins in twenty different directions, crafting various scenarios based very little on evidence and instead on emotion and adrenaline.

"Yes," she growls, thrusting the flowers into his chest with enough force that Castle lets out a grunt of surprise, "You can tell me what the _hell_ is going on."


	2. Chapter 2

White petals scatter when the arrangement hits his chest, defying gravity as they float through the air until they still around his feet. This woman is strong, he'll give her that. Already Rick can feel the sting of the vase's rounded edge. He's pretty sure that come tomorrow morning he'll have a bruise from the force with which it had been launched at him.

That's okay, he can always convince Chelsea to come over and tend to him. Kiss it better and nurse him back to health with that tiny white faux-leather skirt and even smaller red apron….

The resigned sigh that is released across from him is what ultimately dissolves the vision of young, blond nurses and Rick forces himself to focus. It's clear that this woman on his doorstep a little distraught, dark green eyes flashing a mixture of disbelief and anger that he's finding it a little hard to understand. As far as he knows he's never met this woman before and he certainly can't fathom the small attachment to him that she seems to carry. His days of being the life of the party and the guy every girl wanted to be seen with have slowly passed on.

These days he generally exists in a social setting on the invitations and well wishes of friend who still like him enough to invite him, and more physical pursuits are achieved with willing young women who usually aren't that much older than his daughter.

The choice of a younger set is practical, decided years before when most women his own age were more interested in status gained by a ten carat engagement ring and a fancy society wedding. Women with ticking biological clocks and hungry for a man to shape up and put to rights. His current companions are more suited to clean breaks, usually tiring of him before thinking to look for commitment. Generally they want nothing but a good time, becoming the very definition of a mutually beneficial arrangement.

"Sorry, this was a mistake," she mumbles, long fingers tucking one half formed curl behind her ear when it escapes the artfully messy bun he can just make out at the back of her head, "I'll just go…."

For Rick there's a split-second of being caught in limbo. The need to protect himself from further ridicule and failure urges him to just close the door, forget this woman with her sad eyes and haunted smile. The other part of him, the one that used to write five thousand words in one sitting and felt fulfilled by his seemingly singular talent, demands that he call out to her and snuff out the story.

At his core, even when saddled with crippling writer's block, he still believes that everyone from the bus boy at the restaurant to the Leader of the Free World has a story. Lives can be summed up through a line of dates, experiences and letdowns that craft people into their current selves. Once upon a time he was a master of digging into the lives of others, an astute observer who saw each careful discovery as a gift of sorts. His skill allowed him to understand what made someone tick, to somewhat immortalize them via paper and ink.

It's been years since anyone inspired that in him, maybe even longer since he truly believed in his capabilities as a writer. Standing at his front door, Rick remembers how it felt to be capable, to be in demand, to be the master of the words that insisted they be crafted and pay homage to his inspirational cast of contacts and informants. He's intimately familiar with the jumble of words and how they fill his brain, the buzz of anticipation filling him up until his fingers itch with it. Once, in desperation, he'd crafted three paragraphs for Derrick Storm's jaunt with African drug lords by using a combination of sidewalk chalk and spray paint in a dingy Spanish Harlem alley.

He'd also paid to have that wall painted, both to calm the unfortunate bodega owner who had one half of his property graffitied, and to keep a pivotal plot point from being broadcast by proxy of his impatient imagination.

"Wait!" The word is out of his mouth before his mind has recognized the desire to speak. Rick feels a little like a man possessed, every muscle vibrating in excitement and curiosity when he places the vase onto the entryway table and hurls himself out the door to catch up with this Kate Beckett. Already she's standing at the elevator, body oriented away from him and fingers repeatedly punching at the elevator button.

"That doesn't actually make it arrive any faster," Rick drawls, hoping the smile he paints onto his face is kind and reassuring when she finally turns to look at him, features strained with the obvious effort to keep her emotions in check, "Repeatedly pressing the button is just a way to trick your mind, make you feel as if you are in control of time. In reality time keeps moving at the same speed, regardless of what you or I do."

"Is that supposed to be funny?" the question exits her mouth with a harshness that surprises him because she's guven the verbal equivalent of a slap across the face that you never see coming, "Because it isn't," she adds softly, anger at him ebbing inward just as quickly as it came. A pulsating wave of what feels to him like grief and regret.

"I—what? No!" he stutters it out, so completely upended by this woman and her emotional armor. He's been around her all of five minutes and is equally intrigued, terrified and heartbroken for whatever has happened that could have possibly made her this way, "I was just making conversation, trying to get you to stop from getting on the elevator because you obviously know me and I don't —" Rick breaks off, releasing a long suffering sigh born from his own regrets and mistakes as any residual embarrassment for those life choices.

In fact, he needs another moment to compose himself and he settles on ruffling the carefully styled strands of his hair just enough that the slightly disheveled appearance accentuates his face rather than making him appear sloppy. It's almost unbearably vain that he can do it without using a mirror, but if that's his worst quality then Rick thinks he'd mark it down as a win.

"I have an unfortunate history of decisions that sometimes mean I don't remember faces or names," he says, blue eyes locking onto those of his temporary companion so that she cannot misunderstand him, "So if I've done something to you, or if we had some night together that you thought meant more than….."

"We did _not_," Kate hisses at him, her voice lowering so that her words almost exit her mouth in a growl. She's both intimidating and unquestionably hot, making him take a step backwards while also considering how much bodily harm she could inflict on him if he just kissed her senseless.

She was already stunning. She's something infinitely more astounding when there is heat flaring in her eyes.

"So what happened? I can't apologize if I don't know what I've done!" Rick hears the slight whine that accompanies the higher pitch of his voice, the same tone he gets whenever he and his mother inevitably argue over household expenses and his ever dwindling savings account.

"You….I…..nothing," she huffs, one hand tossing blindly up into the air, "It's stupid and you wouldn't believe me if I told you. I don't even believe it myself."

Well, _that's_ intriguing. Rick can feel his interest skyrocketing, adrenaline fizzing through his veins as it always will when he's presented with a good mystery. Intentional or not, Kate Beckett has gotten her hooks into him and his mind is already ablaze with theories of international conspiracy, memory wipes, alien abductions. Anything and everything that could have happened and amounted to his being able to not recall her.

He hopes is nothing as mundane as too much alcohol and a one night stand, if only because he's been there and done that.

"Try me, I'm very open minded," he replies, doing his best to keep the little boy excitement from his voice and that too eager grin off his face. That proves hopeless when she shifts to draw her arms across her chest, exposing the edge of a NYPD police badge underneath her blazer.

He doesn't mean to gasp, but it falls out anyway, earning the curious lift of one eyebrow from Kate while she sizes him up and opens her mouth.

"Darling, are these flowers for me?" Martha's voice echoes down the hall with the elocution and drama befitting her two Tony's, six Drama Desk awards, and lone Emmy. Rick knows his mother, remembers not-so fondly all those moments in his life where she's interrupted for dramatic effect, and it takes herculean effort not to bang his head against the wall in frustration.

"Mother," he sighs, slumping just a bit as she parades toward them dressed in a navy blue and kelly green ensemble that makes her hair seem even more vividly red, "How nice of you to butt in…."

She ignores his quip, instead opening her arms with the grace of a ballerina to gently embrace Kate and place one quick peck against the woman's cheek to the surprise of both of them. "Captain Beckett, lovely to see you again. What on earth has Richard gotten himself into now?"

"You're a police captain?" Rick's back at attention, eyes wide and mouth twisted open in excitement. The character is practically writing itself in his head, tough and no nonsense, completely sassy and devastatingly sexy. There's a string of names rattling around for what to call her. Short, spunky names like Roxy, Alexa, and Nadia.

_Nikki_.

That's a good one.

The moniker strikes him in the same instant that his mind catches up to the real world, the implication of his mother's greeting implying that somehow, someway, Martha Rodgers and Kate Beckett have crossed paths without him knowing. "Wait, you know my mother?" Rick can't even care that he sounds like a confused child. Specifically one that is annoyed his playmate has picked another friend over him.

"Richard, really," Martha sighs and makes no effort to hide her exasperation from both he and the Captain. He's used to it with his mother since eye rolls and 'what can you do' gestures are as much her trademark as the red hair and sage advice, "You just spent two days pestering this woman and the very kind officers that work under her command. They were very gracious, all things considered, not to charge you with trespassing and impeding an investigation. Just say thank you and let her get back to work. I'm sure there are more ways to research a book than becoming her shadow, no matter how well intentioned."

He isn't surprised that the grand dame of Broadway retreats into the elevator or, really, that it opens on cue when she places herself in front of the stainless steel doors. Even elevators know better than to defy his mother, just as his mother knows when best to make a grand exit lest she upstage herself.

"Darling, please don't forget to remind Alexis to bring my dress for the party when you come to the theatre. And do not be late, the curtain will rise on time," she trills, turning on a wide smile for Kate as the doors slide closed, "Nice seeing you again!"

After ding of the descending metal box there is silence, though Rick can see the small jut of her lips and how carefully she's trying to hide the amusement from her eyes. For all of the frustration that his mother usually brings, she seems to have breezed into their conversation and managed to turn the cart back to its proper side. The tension is gone, replaced by what he tentatively feels might be resignation.

Rick decides he's going to pretend its hope, that somehow Kate is convinced to share her story because he certainly has questions. They're filling him up, drowning out the need to craft pages of prose. After all, he didn't meet her two days ago, he hasn't been in a police precinct in months. He spent two days shacked up in the Hamptons, sulking about and brooding at his poor attempts to write.

"Could I interest you in some coffee, Captain Beckett?"


	3. Chapter 3

The apartment is nothing like she expects. It's ostentatious, vases and figurines cluttering the tables with a collection of framed photos that generally feature Martha with a co-star or famous friend. Kate catches a few family photos, including a black and white one that looks to have been taken when Castle was somewhere in his twenties, but those are the only mark on the place that would really give a hint that the writer lives there at all.

She wonders where he goes to work, if his bedroom is the one place that hasn't been overrun by his mother and her need for dramatic flair.

And Kate promptly puts a halt on that line of thinking, wrinkling her nose in distaste at herself. Imagining what his bedroom looks like is a little much, and that's certainly not why she's perched on a barstool watching him expertly operate what she knows to be a top of the line espresso machine.

There's something oddly seductive about it. The way the muscles in his arms flex as the milk froths up or the intense concentration she can see on his face as Castle carefully combines the white liquid with the espresso and then begins drawing what proves to be an intricate leaf pattern when he presents the extra large mug to her with a flourish and beaming smile.

She doesn't miss that he forgoes the smooth motions and over the top presentation for his own cup, but Kate doesn't comment. It's interesting, sure, but she hardly knows this man. Or, well, this version of him. It's a bit like staring at a fun house mirror that distorts your features, gives you some reflection of yourself that's just not quite what you have known.

It's wholly unsettling, only making the anxiety and agitation about the entire situation churn in her stomach as she takes a tentative sip of the drink and promptly tries not to moan at the bitter-sweet explosion against her taste-buds.

By far, it's the best coffee she's had in years.

On some level, he seems to sense it, blue eyes twinkling at her from over the rim of his own cup. He's amused by her, that much is clear, but Kate can't help the clench of muscles at the absence of familiarity. Less than a day ago he'd looked at her like he'd known all of her secrets and had treasured every one of them.

She's not sure what it says that some part of her yearned for it to be true, that someone existed in the world who had gotten under her armor and made themselves at home, turned her lonely world into something extraordinary.

"So, you ready to tell me why my mother thinks I've been shadowing you for a book?" Castle asks after another lingering sip of coffee, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick at his upper lip for any stray drops.

That move makes her shift in her seat for a different reason, one that Kate steadfastly ignores. It's already weird enough without adding her obvious attraction to the writer into the fray.

"….because you were," Kate offers it in its simplest form, no subtext or word manipulation to allow the truth of the thing to arrive in an easier fashion. Her hyper rational mind and devotion to logic have no hope of making sense of this, not unless he's sustained some bump on the head or a psychotic break that has forged him to forget the past 48 hours.

But even if that were possible, it doesn't explain how he's sitting healthy and whole in his kitchen, he should be in a hospital recovering from surgery or at least nursing some stitches or a nasty bruise. There's no answer for why he seemed to know every inch of her and now glances at her with the general interest that she so often sees in men.

Warmth, intrigue, appreciation - those are all things she can decipher in that swirling vortex of blue. There's no intimacy, no affection. Those emotions evaporated with a gunshot that Kate can still feel rattling through her body and will surely haunt her mind for weeks to come.

"I wasn't," Castle replies, slowly placing his mug onto the counter. His eyes are still curious, still sparkling with an infinite measure of possibilities, but they are also guarded, cautious in the face of the evidence she's about to present him with, "For the past two days, I've been in the Hamptons attempting to write about the police force there and the small town crimes. It…." the words trail off for a moment, broad shoulders slumping inward with his frustrated exhale of air, "It didn't go well."

Kate's nose wrinkles up at the idea by reflex. Small town capers? It sounds rather dull, nothing like the globe-trotting adventures of Derrick Storm or the high drama of his earlier works. She doesn't really even get time to school her features, to offer some half-hearted encouragement that he keep plugging at the idea before he has read her reaction and jumped in with more explanations, hands gesturing at her in some form of appeasement.

"I know, it's a little _Murder, She Wrote_ or even _Veronica Mars_," he says, eyes rolling in some mix of exasperation and embarrassment, "But it was a concept, and that's more than I've had in a while, so I retreated up there to research the resources and procedures of the Southampton Police Department. I can't have been here and yet you and my mother both claim that I have been."

That excitement flows back into him as if someone has flipped a switch and left him buzzing with electricity. The flare in his eyes and that lopsided grin make her heart kick just a little harder against her ribs, and she can feel her lips twitch in a smile when the writer leans across the counter, one hand planted under his chin when he whispers with glee, "I either have a twin - which I'm sure my mother would remember - or there's something fantastically weird happening. So which is it, Captain Beckett? How can I be in two places at once?"

He's so smug with the question, and combined with the unrepressed giddiness that radiates off of him, Kate can't help but roll her eyes. She can see how he's bursting to say something about alternate universes and parallel worlds, which is exactly the sort of conversation she'd had with his counterpart not so long ago, but instead of diving into it himself, this version is toying with her.

He wants her to say it, almost like some sort of test that will determine how the rest of their conversation proceeds.

She has to grit her teeth against it for a moment, gathering up the courage to ignore her need for logic. This is one situation where logic certainly doesn't apply, but the evidence adds up.

Kate trusts evidence, and part of her trusts Richard Castle because some version of him took a bullet for her when she'd done nothing more than make his life difficult and berate him for getting in the way.

"The other version of you mentioned a parallel universe, that he'd touched an ancient artifact that had taken him from his world to ours. He thought if he touched it again that it would take him back to his world," she replies, pressing her lips together in amusement when Castle punches his fist in the air.

"I _knew_ it! Parallel universes are real," he yells, bouncing on his toes a couple of times, "this is so cool."

A reprimand forms on her tongue instantly, some harsh and mean spirited thing that is meant to inform him that taking a bullet, sacrificing himself for her isn't cool but she holds it in, completely unwilling to both ruin his joy at the implausible becoming possible and to see his reaction to the knowledge that somewhere there's another version of his family that will spend the rest of their lives wondering what happened to him.

The proverbial train of her thoughts grinds to a screeching halt with that idea, Kate's eyebrows shooting towards her hairline.

_What happened to the body._

She's up on her feet in an instant, struggling with her blazer pocket to retrieve her phone. Castle's barrage of questions are mere background noise, like static on a radio station when she dials up the contact number for Lanie and tries to fight the tingling shocks that lick at her skin while the medical examiner's phone rings in her ear.

"Parish," gets huffed out just after the sixth ring, proof that even something as simple as walking can do things to your energy level at eight months pregnant.

"Lanie, hey," Kate tries to keep the excitement out of her tone, to appear disinterested and casual, "Did you do the autopsy on the body that came from our crime scene yesterday? The shooting victims….."

"Girl, you think I can do three dead bodies in less than a day?" Lanie snaps, the words followed by a sharp grunt and a lot of muttering that she can't make out over the creaking of the phone and what sounds to be piles of folders being shuffled around. Kate can picture her friend in her office, crowded by the paperwork that towers on her desk and to the floor beyond, slumping down into the extra large chair that will give her exhausted body some relief from it's added weight.

"I just need to know one thing," she replies, sympathizing with Lanie as much as she can in her non-pregnant life experience, "The third body, the one I didn't shoot…." Kate chokes on attempting to say the name, feeling the goosebumps rise across her arms and neck at the memory of those blue eyes reflecting so much pain and how he'd gone so still while she'd tried to fight the inevitable.

She doesn't even reprimand herself for staring when she turns to glance at that body and its current frantic state. Castle's hunched over the countertop, notepad in front of him and pen scribbling away.

"What about it?" Lanie asks, her voice followed by the faint creak of chair springs.

"Is it still in the morgue?" she closes her eyes, picturing him laid out on an impersonal stainless steel drawer, awaiting the useless process of being cut open to determine his death. It'd been a gunshot wound, taken in defense of her own life. Kate wants to ask Lanie not to cut him open, to let whatever version of Richard Castle that lies there to rest in peace, no more scars to mark his skin.

"Probably not," her friend drawls, the speaker crackling with the sound of a sigh when Lanie hauls herself out of the chair, grunting with the effort of lifting her baby boy, "We know what killed him, so procedure is to let the family tell us which funeral service will be picking him up and when. I'm sure they were informed last night, so if he's still here then I don't think its for long. Why?"

"I…." Kate sinks her teeth into her lower lip, worrying at the skin while she thinks. She's so far out of her element, so completely beyond anything rational that she's nearly frozen with indecision. It'd be easier to hang up, give some excuse to Lanie and just not worry about it but she knows that she can't. "….I just need to know what happened to the body. Please don't ask why."

Lanie is one of the few people in her life that can make silence speak, but the lack of noise stretches between them, growing and pressing at Kate's ears until she thinks they might burst with it. The silence means disapproval in keeping Lanie out of her affairs, but also enough respect of Kate's boundaries to not push - not yet at least.

She's never been more grateful.

"Your vic's paperwork has been processed in full and he is now on his way to —-" this silence is different, tense with surprise that keeps both women in a moment of suspension until the doctor breaks it.

"Kate, uh, there's no record of a third victim."


	4. Chapter 4

In the fifteen minutes that she spends on the phone, Rick is able to piece together enough from Kate's half of the conversation to understand that someone has died and now the body is missing and she wants it found, now.

It isn't a stretch of the imagination or a gross manipulation of the evidence in front of him to conclude that the body in question is his. Instinctively, he understands that this isn't a woman who makes large gestures like bringing flowers of sympathy to his doorstep without a reason and it also explains the wounded look that lingers in the hollows of her face and the slant of her eyes.

Making her a second cup of coffee is perfunctory, as much a peace offering that some version of himself has caused her so much trouble as an effort to sooth what looks to be a bear of a headache when the phone finally gets placed onto the kitchen countertop, apology already swimming her eyes.

He's a little pleased with himself at the reluctant grin that the sight of a fresh cup of coffee and two Advil draw up, and he doesn't even bother to hide his responding smile when she grabs the pills and the coffee in one go, sighing in satisfaction after the first sip and lingering for a longer second taste.

Watching her throat work to swallow the liquid, how the pale line of her neck is extended and her eyes sparkle with pleasure. It's undeniably sexy.

"I couldn't help overhearing," he says, if only to distract his traitorous mind before it can begin to do something like picture her naked, "A body has gone missing?" Rick keeps the question innocent, hand casually placed over his full page of notes and prose so that she can neither read it or tug it out of his possession. It's too early to know for sure, but he can't help but think there is something special about those two opening paragraphs. The character just speaks to him, slotting some missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle into place so that he inexplicably feels more like himself than he has in years.

She hedges on the answer, full lips pressing together while she busies herself with the cup. It's a clear stall for time, her mind turning furiously to craft some half-truth or mild excuse about why she can't tell him. Rick just isn't sure if he efforts are both to save her investigation or to also protect herself from the memories.

It isn't particularly difficult to let her off the hook, his interest and definite attraction to her warranting that he do something to assuage her guilty conscience.

"I know its mine, it's okay," Rick finally says, voice gentle when his hand covers hers, "But I didn't die, Captain Beckett, I'm right here."

He's a little surprised that she doesn't pull her hand away, but he also can't be disappointed by it. There's a visceral connection between them, the press of her skin sizzling across his palm in a way that's entirely intoxicating and seductive.

"How could you possibly know that?" Kate asks, eyebrows drawn together in confusion and surprise.

Her frustration draws another smile, this one inadvertent. It's the type of smile that usually gets reserved for attempting to charm a beautiful woman to a hotel suite, something he used in television interviews and the promotional circuit. This is his most charming effort, but Rick can feel the difference in how it rests across his mouth. This one is born of genuine amusement, and maybe a little embarrassment at just how his mind works to connect the dots.

"You looked guilty, and sad. Like you're holding yourself responsible for what happened. And you showed up with white lilies for my mother which -"

"-are meant to express sympathy for a loss," she finishes his sentence, words followed by a sheepish little sigh that is so adorable that he can't help but grin at her and thread their fingers together with a little squeeze of understanding, "Very observant, Mr. Castle," Kate says softly, her eyes shining at him with some emotion that he's at a loss to name.

"I do my best," Rick replies, thumb gently circling across the patch of skin between her own thumb and forefinger. It's fascinating to watch how clearly that affects her, the subtle way her green eyes grow a bit darker, pink tongue darting out to moisten her bottom lip before they wrap around the rim of her mug.

Again he finds himself waiting for her to finish, mulling over the words that fill his head. She's so different than what he had been expecting, so reserved and shy, but there's more to her as well. In a way, he feels as it she's yearning for something, clinging to whatever sliver of hope there is to make her life something more.

She's on the cusp of being extraordinary. He can feel it in his bones.

"You shouldn't worry about the other me. I'm sure he's back home and he's fine," Rick says softly, angling his other arm so that it will support his weight when he leans across the counter, "His body disappearing just means he's alive and well in his own world, doing whatever it is he's meant to do there."

There's some sort of war going on in her head, Kate's eyes reflect frustration, disbelief and anger in a rapid succession that takes his breath away until, finally, she chokes out the words, "You can't possibly know that."

Rick's scoff is mostly unintentional, a reaction born from years of people doubting just how much he values science fiction and the endless supply of theories. He's watched hours worth of the stuff, is well versed in the various concepts of alternate and parallel universes (because there is a difference). He once had a Doctor Who marathon that lasted until his mother had scolded him for his lack of hygiene and how it was beginning to infiltrate the main room of the loft.

"Haven't you ever seen _Back to the Future_, Kate?" His voice takes on that over eager pitch, syllables forming in a much quicker tempo in his excitement, "When the Doc first tries out the DeLorean he sends his dog Einstein one minute into the future, and while he's gone the car pops out of existence! It goes to the future and then comes right back completely unharmed."

If he had thought there had been confusion on her face before, it's nothing compared to the look that paints itself onto her features now. Her eyebrows draw together, lips pressing into a line and nose completely scrunched up to the point that he has to stifle the urge to laugh.

"But shouldn't you have gone to his world?"

"No, Marty McFly was able to be in 1955 on three different occasions and it never erased any of his past selves. Time travel isn't as linear as people want it to be - it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff…." Rick grins at her, giving a waggle of his eyebrows when Kate finally laughs and rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, okay, Doctor. Whatever you say," she retorts, and God help him, she's possibly even more attractive while spouting out character references that compliment his nerdy side. "But I still have to make sure. Even if its just for paperwork purposes…." Kate trails off, eyes darting down to their still joined hands.

"I understand," he assures her quietly, thumb making another pass across her skin until she reluctantly tears her gaze from their fingers to meet his eyes, "But just…..don't get caught up in chasing a ghost…" Rick means it with kindness, and maybe there's a bit of a plea that she give him a shot as well. He still has so many questions, is so desperately eager to understand what happened between her and this other version of him.

And maybe he wants to see if there's more to this than physical attraction and being thrown together via impossible circumstances. What he doesn't expect is how her eyes lose their spark, that swirling pool of green losing some of its light. The mask that settles over her face is hard, the anguish reflected at him something that threatens to engulf him with the rawness that lingers under that carefully crafted shell.

Kate even pulls her hand away, dropping it into her lap so that its no longer in easy reach. That's when he understands it. That she's lost someone close to her, was thrown into this career and this life by the actions of someone else.

His heart breaks just a little for her.

"I…I'll work on it," she says once the silence has stretched too long, voice brittle with emotion that he quickly decides not to comment on. If he's going to make anything of this, to have a lasting shot at infiltrating her ranks like this other version had he's got to play it safe. No need in tipping the boat just yet.

And yet, he takes and breath and dives in a completely different pool, the nonchalance of shrugging his shoulders completely at odds with the yearning, quiet hope that fills him up when he poses the idea, "I could help you….work on it, the case, I mean. You said I was shadowing you for a book and I….well, I do have an idea after talking to you."

For a brief moment, he's sure she's going to turn him down in the way her lips twitch and her eyes blink closed. Already he's trying to think of ways he can manipulate the system, who he can call to ensure that he's allowed inside her world without her explicit cooperation.

Rick is so involved in his plotting that he almost misses her quiet yes and the way her lower lip is pulled into her mouth to keep her smile under wraps.

She likes him. He can see it in her eyes, and in asking to stay he's managed to make her very happy. Considering the way Kate had looked when she's walked into his front door this morning, he'll mark it down as a win.

"You can come in but my life is boring. Whatever idea it is that you have? It might not live up to your expectations, my job involves a lot of paper pushing and political agendas. That hasn't changed since I went on a da—" she stutters on the last word, eyes growing comically wide even as he bounds around the counter with a burst of laughter.

"You went on a date with me? After knowing me a day!" he doesn't mean to be rude with his laughter, but he's absolutely chuckling even when Kate produces a glare at him that makes the rest of it die in his throat unvoiced.

"It wasn't a date, you used it to get information on the case," she replies, that mournful look back in her eyes, "It helped make an arrest but…." Kate shrugs, "It also led to the rest of it."

_Oh_, he's an ass. Rick sighs, taking the two steps he needs to end up at her side. It's presumptuous to touch her, even though his fingers itch with the desire. He settles for stuffing his hands into his pockets, mulling over the idea of hurting this woman while on a hunt for information. Would that be something he would do? Probably, but he'd also give a heartfelt apology for his behavior.

But instead he took a bullet, he'd heard as much during Kate's first phone call, therefore leaving him unable to make it up to this woman who so carefully has opened herself up to him.

"Let me make it up to you" he says, smile a little hesitant when she glances up at him. Rick is the son of an actress, he understands when it is his cue to continue on and he doesn't hesitate to snag his chance, fingers lightly curling around Kate's wrist before he poses the question, "How do you feel about musical theatre?"


	5. Chapter 5

Her walk up to the Broadway theatre is done with purpose, head held high and shoulders back in an effort to fake some confidence that she doesn't quite feel. Accepting the invitation to the opening gala for _Mame_ hadn't been a difficult decision, not when Castle had so playfully teased her that if he took a bullet for her, she at least owed him one night of her company.

Of course, the shiver that had rolled across her spine had far less to do with his invitation and everything to do with memories of the other Castle bleeding in front of her. But she had done her best to ignore that clench of guilt lingering in her gut, to instead focus on the twinkle in his eyes and the tiny burst of pleasure that the request had stirred within her. Kate had spent most of the morning convincing herself that this was good, that the initial Richard Castle would be happy for her, even enjoy the idea that she's now snagged the version that belongs in her universe.

And rationalizing away the guilt. She's sure she'll be doing that for a while but if this Castle - she resists the urge to call him her Castle, because that doesn't feel right either - is right, he's back at home, back with some version of her that loves him wants to marry him.

Kate hopes they get their happy ending, just as much as she hopes she can find one for herself.

If nothing else, his interference in her life has managed to give her hope. In two days, the influence of one man had shaken her from the sleepwalking effort she'd been putting into her whole existence. Complacency in her work, in her personal life; none of those things were what she'd dreamed off as a wide eyed teenager or a rookie cop who'd really only wanted to solve her mother's murder.

As much as she can, Kate has put that behind her, buried the pain and long since accepted that her most personal case is the one she'll just never solve. Maybe if she'd left the police force with that realization, hadn't jumped at the opportunity to remove herself from the streets after Captain Montgomery's death and maintained her will to fight.

She still feels like a coward for quitting, for choosing to hide behind paperwork and leadership.

Badging herself past the NYPD traffic barrier funneling special guests to the red carpet that lines the sidewalk along West 53rd becomes unnecessary when she recognizes one of her own people standing at the route. Generally speaking, Officer Hastings doesn't work traffic and Kate makes a note to ask why she's not on her usual patrol in the morning but, for now, she merely nods at the woman and tries not to cringe at the inevitable rumor mill that will be in full force by the time she arrives at the precinct tomorrow.

At the corner of 53rd and Broadway she can see a few vaguely familiar faces posing for the repetitive flash of paparazzi cameras against the dramatic white backdrop with the logos of _Mame_, Playbill and some corporate sponsor that she can't make out from this distance. There's a television star from some show she remembers seeing commercials for, an older pop star that doesn't seem to fit the type of crowd that a Broadway revival would draw, and right at the end, Richard Castle stands just somewhat hidden in the shadows from the flashing cameras. He's smiling at the reporter who has thrust a tape recorder into his face, gesturing wildly with his hands in a way that makes his biceps flex underneath the material of what she can tell is an immaculately cut suit.

Tucking her printed clutch under one arm, Kate takes her time to approach him, having no desire to either interrupt the interview or be drawn into it because she recognizes the profile of the reporter who attempted to lure her for one of those fluffy 'Most Eligible Bachelorette' pieces right after she got her promotion. Apparently being successful at a young age meant you were a hot item, but Kate had wanted nothing to do with it then and, though three years have passed, her general opinion of her personal life being splashed across the news media remains the same. Dealing with reporters in the capacity of her job is trying enough.

"It sounds like you are very excited about this new project, this Nikki Heat," the woman says, her smile growing wider at the immediate nod her questions poses.

"Definitely. I know it's been a while since anyone has seen something from me out on the shelves, but I'm thrilled to put this one out there and begin discussing options with any interested publisher. I think this will be a very special character," Castle responds, allowing the woman to turn off her recorder and linger for another moment to give her a hug and murmured thank you.

"Anytime, Rick. You've always been a friend, so anything I can do," she replies, her grin just a bit less professional and more flirty than Kate might like. Not that it really lasts that long because all too soon he's spotted her in the crowd and abandoned his reporter friend with a shout of 'Kate, hi!' and pressing his lips to her cheek in greeting.

She just hopes she isn't blushing since the reporter in question is definitely looking their way and attempting to write on her spiral notepad at the same time.

"I'm good, how are you?" Kate chuckles, teeth snagging on her lower lip even as her mouth stretches with a smile. It's utterly ridiculous how happy he is to see her, and, in turn, how happy that sentiment makes her.

This contented ease is a feeling that is almost foreign to her, the type of thing she'd honestly thought might be gone for good.

"I'm great. I spent most of the day writing," he tells her, no qualms about snagging her hand in his for their short walk to join the line of patrons that are slowly filling into the lobby. That same frisson of electricity she felt when he touched her in the loft licks across her skin, sending Kate's heart beating double time against her chest.

Strictly speaking, she doesn't believe in fate, soulmates or true love. She's a follower of evidence and logic, but Kate also can't deny the spark between them. It fills her up, brings back just a dash of joy that she's sorely been missing.

"Mmm, I heard," she replies, glancing at him from over her shoulder, "Nikki Heat? Is that the character you are basing on me?" Kate waits for his nod, trying not to grin at the excited bob of his head lest it ruin the rest of her point, "Castle, that sounds like a stripper, not a cop. You can't actually name her that."

"Are you kidding!" he exclaims, loud enough that a few heads turn to stare at them. She telegraphs an apology with her eyes that doesn't really seem to register. It's completely understandable because Castle's techniques at subtlety are still lost, he's practically jumping in place with his effort to explain his moniker for her supposed alter ego, "It's sassy, it's sexy and it's a little bit slutty."

Kate doesn't hesitate to dig her elbow into his ribs for that one, mouth open in something between disbelief and just a small bit of insult, "Did you just call me a slut?"

"No! No no no no," Castle's on the apology then, panic swimming in his eyes. She's sure his brain is turning over phrases to try and work his way out of the hole, and she lets him stew in it for a few moments, purposefully keeping her attention on people as they wander past, "I didn't meant that like it sounded."

She purses her lips slowly, just a small little quirk of her mouth that still seems to draw the mounting anxiety out of him. "I know, Castle," she relents finally, her thumb brushing over his in that same soothing motion he employed on her earlier in the day, "But you're so easy to tease."

His nod of agreement to her words lead them into the lobby, the press of people almost overwhelming when paired with waiters bearing trays of champagne and ushers passing out Playbills. There are giant posters of the cast, Martha front and center as the titular star, displayed on the walls with blank spaces where Kate already knows the more complementary lines from critic reviews will be plastered in the coming days.

Castle's mother looks radiant in the dramatic evening gown and blonde wig that make up the character of Mame, arm wrapped around the kid who plays her young son in the show in the most prominent photo of all.

"Castle, are you sure this book, this character, are a good idea?" she voices the question when he's a bit distracted with flagging down drinks from a passing waiter, trapping the sigh that wants to escape in favor of shrugging off her coat. The goosebumps that erupt across the exposed skin of her back are immediate as a gust of cold November wind skirts into the lobby from the open doors and Kate fights the urge to shiver at the sudden temperature change.

"Of course its a good —- oh, _wow_," Castle's answer gets lost on his exhalation, the champagne in the two glasses he carries sloshing dangerously against the rim with the jolt created by stopping in his tracks. "You look….I mean…." the stuttering mess he's resulted to makes her blush, the pink stain that paints itself across her cheekbones a small compliment to the soft peach-pink of her dress.

She's rarely been happier that Lanie forced her to splurge on the simple gown, had refused to let Kate cave and take it back to the store before the return policy expired.

Tomorrow she's going to do something nice for her friend.

"You look beautiful," he finally manages, those clear blue eyes scanning her from head to toe, voice pitched low in a way that makes heat curl in her abdomen for an entirely different reason. But he's sincere in the compliment, gaze still absorbing every inch of her when she gives a little turn.

Kate doesn't imagine the sharp intake of air he releases at the sight of her exposed back, either.

She plays it up just a bit, grinning at him from over her left shoulder. It's utterly cliche how their eyes lock, the tension that flows between them in the split second of time they're allotted before another attendee brushes against Castle, obviously in a rush to meet someone else.

"I, uh, here," he stutters, stepping forward to place the champagne glass into her outstretched hand.

It's all she can do not to chug the liquid, body alight with nerves and need as it is. But Kate holds on, taking one small sip and nearly choking when his fingers skate across the small of her back. She's still cold from the open doors, and the warmth of his skin and the light pressure of his hand as they walk across the lobby make her want to tuck her small frame against his.

She's a little terrified of just how drawn to him she is, how easily her reservations have grown quiet and her self imposed walls are willing to fall. Most people have to work tirelessly to get past her armor, and the vast majority usually give up, but this man, this setting is different. For once, she's willing to take a leap.

_'Thanks, Castle'_, she thinks to herself, picturing the confident and eager man who had stumbled into her precinct, not the charming and shy version that's escorting her to a trio of seats where a raven-haired young woman is already waiting.

"Hey, dad," the woman says, eyes flicking up from her phone for a brief second of acknowledgement. It's quick enough for Kate to see that this girl has her father's eyes but, all too soon, that pair of icy blue are focused on her with the unspoken question of 'who are you'.

"Alexis, hey," Castle says behind her, squeezing around another couple to come on Kate's other side with a nervous chuckle, "This is Kate Beckett." His introduction is a little awkward, as is the gesture he gives but it seems to do the trick since Alexis is quickly on her feet, eyes wide as she blinks at him. "And Kate, this is my daughter Alexis."

"Dad, is this the cop you kept bothering?" she asks, disbelief and maybe a little amusement coloring her voice, "You asked the cop who arrested you twice in two days on a date?" The look then shifts to Kate, and she can see how Alexis is fighting the urge to smile with the slight twist of her lips, "And you said yes?"

It's clear that Castle has no idea just what has happened beyond the vague details she's shared. His glance of panic isn't subtle, but Kate dives in to save him by extending her hand to shake Alexis' with a carefully calculated smile, "Let's just say we got off on the wrong foot and this is his attempt to make amends," she says, "And its nice to meet you Alexis, I've heard a good bit about you."

Of course it had been about his red-headed genius daughter who attended Columbia, not a slightly wary, dark haired woman who doesn't seem to know where she fits in.

But if she can accept the idea of alternate reality, Kate can probably roll with this particular curveball as well. To her credit, Alexis also seems adaptable, sizing up the two of them with one more glance before she takes her seat, "The show is about to start," she informs them, gesturing towards the flickering lights that signal one minute until curtain.

"Right, yes," Castle says, jumping to claim the seat between his daughter and Kate, and giving a quick squeeze to her shoulders that makes Alexis grin outright, "Glad you're here, Pumpkin," he murmurs, just loud enough that Kate can decipher the words and the quiet 'me, too' from the young woman over the tuning orchestra.

And then he turns his attention to her, blue eyes all happy and bright as the lights dim and the music swells in its opening chord.

By the curtain's lift, their fingers are tangled together again, clasped firmly on his thigh as Castle's mother storms the stage for her first entrance.


	6. Chapter 6

His fingers still tingle with the warm, solid weight of Kate's hand so perfectly fitted into his own when they finally tug them apart to clap for the curtain call. Rick isn't surprised to note that his mother was magnificent, lighting up the stage with her talent and the fearless way she approached the character of Auntie Mame bringing a new energy and life to the entire cast. He doesn't even care that his high pitched whistle as she takes the final bow of the night draws looks from the other audience members around him, or that Alexis wrinkles her nose even as she tries not to laugh.

Kate doesn't bother to hide her laughter, grinning even as she shakes her head in some small form of mollification.

He's happy, far more content than he's been in years. It seems impossible that something so simple as one person striding into his life can effect such a change, but he's nothing if not a man who loves a good mystery and the unknown depths of Kate Beckett, not to mention the magnificent story with which she arrived, have certainly captured his attention.

Intentional or not, she's breathed much needed life into him by making him want to investigate and be inspired. There's no more hopeless plodding in an endless current where the waves toss him wherever they wish. Finally, Rick is in charge of his own ship and steering it towards a destination that is perhaps a bit hazy at the edges but enough of a promise that he's willing to complete the journey.

As a date, Kate proves to be ebullient. He's fascinated to watch how everyone in the room lingers on the statuesque lines of her body, the chiseled cheekbones and caramel coffee colored hair. There's no real denying that she's the most enticing woman in the room, making the women wish they could be her and the men wish she were the one standing beside them as the typical rounds are made.

But it's more than physical beauty. In fact, Rick quickly decides that she's the most lethal combination of grace, attractiveness and intelligence that he's ever met once he introduces her to a professor friend from Columbia and they immediately begin discussing the merits of Dostoyevsky and the overall theme of his later works. He learns that she studied Russian literature and the language in college, very nearly tips his flute of champagne onto his suit when her voice deepens slightly and fluent, sexy Russian tumbles out of her mouth.

He can't even care when she catches his staring with his mouth partially open, lips quirking in a shy little smile, "Careful, Castle, you'll catch flies like that," she teases him softly, those long fingers plucking the glass from his hands to lead him past the crowds of people and into the long, empty hallway of the New York Public Library that he's sure they aren't meant to be in.

He'd be lying if he wasn't excited at the prospect of breaking a rule with a cop, and Rick tries not to skip with glee when Kate ushers him along, "You know we aren't supposed to do this," he mutters, the serious tone he tries to convey at direct odds with the pleased grin he shoots her.

"Yeah, well, I'm a cop," Kate replies, nudging their joined hands against his hip with a wink, "I'll risk it."

Their wandering through the stacks is a bit aimless, both of them occasionally stopping to point out a book to the other or chat about things that are utterly meaningless. Rick teases her about the excitement she'd been unable to contain at meeting Joe Torre, drinking up her small story about attending games with her father at Shea Stadium before it was replaced by the more modern Citi Field. Despite himself, he files that information away for another time, wishing that it wasn't November and he could whisk her away to a night of wooden bats and old timers jeering at the woefully mismatched team.

Stepping into the shelves that are stuffed with mystery novels absurdly feels like he's walking into his own home. Here among the Agatha Christie and James Patterson, Rick tries not to let his ego get the best of him, but its practically a lost cause when Kate leans against one shelf and he can make out the imprint of Raymond Chandler's _The Big Sleep _beside her head. Two shelves below is his own name in bright red print, _Flowers For Your Grave_ peeking out from around the smooth line of her dress.

He can't help the thrill that races down his spine, or the assurance that someday soon the character this woman has inspired will join his other works on the shelves.

"Why me?"

The question throws him, as lost as he is in concepts of the future and, truthfully, in the magnificent pillar to which he has already placed Kate Beckett. Rick doesn't understand the question at first, how its tinged with doubt and colored with some dark resolve that he's making a terrible mistake.

"Why not you?" he replies, aware of how insignificant and paltry such a statement is. It does nothing to erase the doubts he can make out in the slats of light that filter between the shelves and keep them from complete darkness. Her eyes are dark, harder than he's maybe used to seeing. There's less Kate and more the in charge precinct Captain that first showed herself to him when she thought she'd been duped. It's a ruse, an attempt to hide behind iron armor and brick walls.

"I'm not anything special, Castle," Kate replies, fingers twisting against the fabric of her dress. She wears the slope shoulders and careful tone of someone who has already had this conversation and, one some level, they already have. She's assured him twice now that she isn't worth the energy or the interest and each time his heart has fractured for the lack of self assurance she carries towards herself.

This time, under the shadows of both his own works and some of his greatest inspiration, it cracks in two and Rick is helpless to stop himself in reaching for her hands, twining their fingers together when she heaves a shaky sigh. "Kate Beckett, I've known you for a day. One single _day. _In that time? You've shown me far more fascinating qualities than anyone else I've interacted with in years. You're beautiful, smart, and definitely sassy. You care about things deeply, but never show your full deck of cards because somewhere in your life you've been hurt and you are scared of opening yourself up to that again."

He doesn't fight her when she curls against him, head dropping to rest in that open space between his chin and his shoulder. It isn't surprising that she's a perfect fit against him, molded to the curves and valleys of his body as if her own were created to compliment his. "You had options. You aren't a burrough's girl. You are Manhattan, maybe upper middle class. Parents who worked hard and did well for themselves, they wanted you to get a good education, to become a doctor or a lawyer. You weren't meant to be a cop until one day it was the only thing you could imagine doing with your life."

The nod is tiny against his skin, breath puffing against his neck in a sharp exhale that makes him ache for her. She's stiff against him, muscles tight against whatever emotional trauma he's reminding her of with his words. And it's not fair, it's absolutely not fair that someone like this woman has endured this much. "What happened, Kate?"

Silence stretches between them for a long time, seconds colliding until he's sure she won't answer. Rick can't be angry about it, not when he can feel how much whatever horror she's lived through still affects her, but he doesn't want to risk putting that to words.

Instead, he bends his head and skims his mouth across the crown of her head.

"My mother was murdered," she whispers once he's withdrawn his mouth, "Random gang violence they said. Never found her killer."

Rick gasps on instinct, even the assurance that he was right about loss unable to prepare him for the truth or how broken she sounds when admitting it to him. At the same time, he holds her a little tighter, broad hands spanning across her back in the small patch of space between her body and the shelves.

"No, don't," Kate adds quickly, tipping her head up to look at him. Her eyes are cloud with the sheen of unshed tears, "Don't feel sorry for me, okay? I became a cop to solve her case and I couldn't do it. How am I meant to be a detective if I can't close the one that is most important to me?"

It's a rhetorical question, but it hammers at his guts all the same. She's too hard on herself, carrying too much guilt, but he knows it's a lost cause to explain that. Right now, she needs someone to listen, to encourage her that the path she chose hasn't been a mistake.

She needs to believe she is worthy.

"You can't close it yet," he says softly, fingers skimming against the delicate curve of her jaw en route to tucking back that same stray curl that brushed at her fingers in his loft, "But one day you will, Kate. Youngest detective and youngest Captain in NYPD history? How can you not?"

That obviously takes her by surprise if the slow upward slope of one eyebrow is any indication, and he chuckles in spite of the emotional onslaught of their conversation. "I might have done some googling after you left my loft…you've got an extraordinary career on your shoulders and that isn't….that type of thing doesn't happen unless someone is very driven and very good at what she does. So you'll get there, in time. I'm sure of it."

The smile she gives him is slow to form, the stretch of the muscles enough to send two tears on a path down her cheeks, "You - the other you - he said something like that too. Told me to believe in myself, not to give up and stop compromising. It actually made him angry, you know? Like I had personally hurt him by not fighting for the truth and I just - I kicked him out because it hurt to hear someone tell me what I already knew. I lost other people in my life and I just….I folded, in work, in life."

When his fingers cup her cheek Rick can already see the permission swimming in her eyes and he can only assume his intentions to kiss her are written plainly on his face because she's blurting out the rest of her confession quickly, teeth digging into her bottom lip in a way that almost makes him forget that what she's telling him is very important.

"I haven't been happy in a long time. Work made me feel valuable, gave me purpose until it became about politics and percentages. But even before that I didn't really have anything else, " Kate sighs, "I don't know who I am outside of her murder and a job that my heart isn't in on most days and he saw that, got under my skin, made me want to be the person he thought I was. And then he died, so I thought I'd missed my chance…." she hesitates on the last part, breath curling over her lips when Rick dips his head, forehead lightly bumping against hers, "Then you opened the door."

"Surprise," he chuckles, fingers tipping her jaw up the few millimeters needed for their mouths to meet for the first time.


	7. Chapter 7

It takes longer than usual for Kate to get ready for work. Between memories of the party, the amicable cab ride to her apartment and the toe curling kiss goodnight against her front door she's off to a slow start even without the twenty minutes wasted on deciding what to wear.

Her indecision towards a closet full of clothing eats away at the rest of her morning routine meaning that she arrives to the office ten minutes late and without her usual coffee and pastry. Already there are detectives waiting to ask her questions or update her on various cases, and she dreads opening her email to see what 1PP have overloaded her inbox with.

If she were to bet, case closure rates are at the top of the list and running hand in hand with reducing overtime and attempting to cut staff.

"Captain Beck…." she hears Esposito's voice as she winds her way through the bullpen, heels clattering against the hardwood floor. Kate can feel people staring at her, sense that the gossip she had been concerned about after meeting Officer Hastings on her way to the theatre last night was well paced, and she straightens her shoulders against it all, eyes cutting across the rows of desks to make out Esposito and Ryan with their heads bent together.

Right. She owes them an explanation.

"My office in ten minutes, Detective," is her ultimate reply, heading off whatever her friend might be wanting to approach her with. Kate doesn't stand around to see if he meets her gaze, instead she pushes open the door to her office and nudges it closed behind her in a silent request that everyone on the opposite side just give her a minute.

"Do you need me to leave?"

The rumble of a voice jerks her from the slumped posture she's holding against the door, eyes popping open to see a very amused writer lounging on her couch like he was always intended to be there. Castle still hasn't shaved, a smattering of coarse dark hair decorating the hard edge to his jaw in a way that makes her stomach flip-flop. In fact, he's altogether attractively rumpled with his disheveled hair and lopsided grin, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a leather jacket draped across the arm of her dark, beaten up leather couch.

"…..Castle…." Kate drawls his name, feeling a little stupid at how just his presence in her office as reduced her mind to something altogether useless. All she can think about is the heat of his mouth, the vague taste of champagne and chocolate on his tongue, the breathless little grunt he'd released when her teeth had grazed across his bottom lip. "Hi."

_Focus, Kate._

She clears her throat, ignoring how his easy smile is now an infuriating and distractingly sexy smirk. He knows she's remembering their kiss, and Kate hopes that it's starred in a few early morning thoughts of his own on her way towards her desk to deposit her briefcase and to power up her computer.

The rich aroma of coffee assaults her senses immediately at her approach and her eyes rove across the small white takeout box and a black fork before they reach the grande travel mug.

"You brought me coffee?" she asks, eyes lifting to meet his and catch the resulting nod.

"Took a chance, yeah. You seemed to enjoy it yesterday," Castle mutters, reclining back against the overstuffed couch cushions while she pops the lid on the box and gives a pleased gasp at the iced bearclaw within.

Her sip at the coffee is tentative, more in concern for the temperature than the taste, but it's perfect. So perfect that she bites her lip to hold back the moan of appreciation that presses against the back of her throat.

"You did well," Kate replies, temporarily abandoning her coffee to type her password and bring the desktop to life. She leaves her desk altogether after that task is finished, carrying the coffee and the pastry to the couch. There is plenty of space at the opposite end, but Kate doesn't take residence there. Instead, her seat is directly beside her office guest, close enough that she doesn't need to stretch in order for her lips to brush his cheek, "Thank you."

The silence is companionable while she digs in to her breakfast, Castle watching her with a scrutiny that Kate thinks should make her uncomfortable. Instead, she feels herself blushing just a bit at the obvious appreciation in his gaze, how his eyes darken when the tip of her tongue darts out to remove the stray crumbs from her lips after her last bite.

"Did you go home and write more?" The question is pertinent to the reason he is here, to the piles of paperwork and liability releases he will spend the day signing in order to shadow her and the detectives but it is also one that has her curious. He'd painted a stunning portrait of what he thought Nikki Heat could be as they'd wandered among the library shelves, descriptions of her skills in the field and the spunky personality that had made her laugh and stirred up an inexplicable shyness.

"A bit," he tells her, hand lifting to tuck some wayward strands of hair behind her ear, "Mostly background information on Nikki, research on names for other potential characters. Not so much actual writing, not since before the theatre, but the foundation for the rest of it."

Kate smiles at that, her cheek resting against the warm, smooth plane of his hand, "That's good then," she mutters, "But I do have to tell you that you can't shadow anyone today. There's all sorts of paperwork that has to be filed, approval to get from people who are higher up in the food chain than me."

The noise he makes is a bit of a whine, the very same exclamation that the initial Castle had made when she'd excused him from butting in to her case. Rather than filling her with guilt Kate only chuckles at the man in front of her, tugging her bottom lip with her top teeth to tamp down on the smile that so eagerly wants to appear, "Castle, it's not going to be that exciting, not with me. I spend time in this office, or downtown in meetings with administration. There's very little field work anymore, not unless its a high profile case that requires my mediation."

"You were so good though!" he exclaims, hands smacking onto his thighs with his adamance, "I read some of the articles written about your cases, Kate. You were amazing! Don't you miss it?"

_Sweet man_, she thinks, giving a nod in answer to his question. "I do, but things change. I was needed here," Kate gestures towards her office, to the large desk that dominates the room, "But there's still procedure that we can discuss and I'm going to send you with Ryan and Esposito. You'll really like them, and they're my two best. I worked with them for years before my promotion."

The answer doesn't really mollify him though Castle gives her a nod that is obviously meant to do so. She can still see the disappointment lurking in his eyes, "Cheer up, Rick," she chuckles, "I'll buy you lunch later."

His gasp is predictably put upon, some of the dramatic flair that he's clearly inherited from his mother coming in to play. But there's also a smile, a wisp of a thing that tugs out an unconscious response in her own grin, "Captain Beckett, did you just ask me on a date?"

"I did, yeah," Kate laughs, top teeth sinking into her lower lip while he seems to ponder her request.

"If you insist," Rick tells her a moment later, swooping in to press a lingering kiss against her mouth that she sighs into, fingers lifting up to stroke against the stubbled edge of his jaw. There's just a hint of coffee and whatever cologne he uses invading her senses, and the smooth cushion of his lips sliding over hers is enough to make her forget she's sitting in her office and, even as Captain, there are some rules meant to be observed.

Rules like no public displays of affection, lest your detectives open the door and catch you.

"Beckett…." Ryan's voice is a little high pitched and yelping, as effective as someone dousing her body with a bucket of cold water. She springs away from Castle immediately, cringing as the cold dredges of coffee topple from her hands. It's like a slow motion horror movie, how the impact of the container breaks open the lid and the dark liquid splatters against the blue cotton of his shirt.

"Oh, Castle, I'm sorry!" she's gasping at him, ignoring Ryan's slacked face and Esposito's amused skepticism to find some sort of makeshift sponge. There's a gym towel in the depths of her bottom drawer that she's yet to use and Kate stops short of letting herself drape it against his abdomen and attempting to pat him somewhat dry.

She can already hear Espo's muffled laugh.

"It's fine, I'm fine," Castle tells her, lifting the hand not occupied with mopping up the mess to wave at the two men who have blocked the entrance to her office and, therefore, most of the view to anyone else (everyone else, if she's honest) who might be trying to peek in.

"Shouldn't tagalong be in the hospital?" Esposito asks, closing the door behind him at Kate's gesture, "And didn't you kick him out?"

"Twice," Ryan confirms with a nod, gaze still suspicious where it lingers on Castle who looks ready and eager to explain himself, at least until he looks toward her desk and catches the look she's sending his direction.

"I did but….." Kate finds herself hedging on giving the whole truth, aware that Ryan would likely believe it while Esposito would go on the defensive and ask her where her common sense has gone. She doesn't want to lie to them, not really, but the truth seems so improbable when you aren't faced with the evidence that she's seen, "….Mr. Castle has proved himself a valuable asset, and he's going to be with us for a while. The new book he's working on requires him to shadow an active field detective and since you are the best I've got, you get the job."

The eye roll and look of disbelief Espo shoots at her is expected, as is the muttered "Aw hell," that's just loud enough to reach her ears.

"What is it, Espo?" she questions, waiting out the reluctant glance until her friend spits it out.

"I can't believe you let this guy get to you. I know you're a fan of his crime novels but c'mon Beckett, we don't have time to babysit…."

"How big of a fan is she, exactly?" Castle pipes up, bouncing up from his perch on the couch to stand beside Esposito, eyes sparkling with curiosity and an eagerness to learn more about her. It's not truly a threat to Kate, not when the only thing Esposito knows is that she had several of his books among her collection. And she'd never told him that, not even when Castle consulted with McNulty on the copycat case. That'd been Will's doing, sharing some part of her private life in an attempt to butter up her friends.

It hadn't gone well, not for Esposito when he'd teased her and not for Will when she'd asked him what he had been playing at.

"I don't think so, Writer Boy. I don't trust you," the detective replies, daggers shooting over his shoulder when his partner fails to hide his laughter.

"What! What did I do!" The sound is a pure whine, not far removed from something that might fall out of the mouth of a toddler, "You can't seriously be mad that I was kissing your boss in her office, she started it anyway with the….."

"Castle!" Kate hisses, eyes going wide in an effort to shut him up. She hadn't started anything, though it was hardly the point. "Stop talking," she adds for effect, pushing away from the desk to stride forward and approach all three men.

"First things first, I don't need you to protect me from a boy. I sleep with a gun, I can handle it," she begins, eyes cutting to Esposito and Ryan in turn, "Second of all, I'm not giving you a choice. Mr. Castle was who solved the case, I just followed his lead and he protected me from a bullet. He's asked for a favor and we're going to fulfill it, understood?"

Again she waits her two detectives out in silence, joint nods of their heads the only sign they understand and agree until Ryan gathers the courage to voice a question, "Can he still get us house seats?"


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Don't read too much into the lack of age changes for Susan and Joanne Delgato. There's no rhyme or reason for it, just a thing I did. _

The first case he works is a thing born from nightmares, gruesome enough that Rick has to excuse himself from the penthouse living room and suck down a few deep breaths in the hallway, dig deep to find his game face.

Bothered by the sight of a woman crammed into a safe as he is, he misses the long look exchanged by Ryan and Esposito, and the quiet call the calmer detective makes while he's busy avoiding everyone working the scene by sitting in the hall, knees bent towards his chest, head bowed over the Star Wars edition of Angry Birds.

It isn't so much that he's not used to gore. Even as a writer or, maybe, because of his chosen profession, Rick has seen a few things. It's the careless, brutal nature of the crime that's set him back. He knows enough about anatomy to understand that most of the bones in the woman's body are broken, that pain, blood loss, and the puncturing of her skeleton into vital organs would have provided a slow and agonizing death.

He's hoping she was already gone when the killer put her in there.

Well, killers. Even on adrenaline, Rick isn't so sure one man could do the job alone.

"Castle," Kate's voice floats over him, that spicy-sweet scent of cinnamon and vanilla with the smallest whiff of cherries filling his nostrils the same time the light pressure of her hand lands between his shoulder blades, "You can go home, you don't have to be here for this. Call it a benefit of not being a cop."

When he looks up, she's got a grim smile on her face, mustered up specifically for the purpose of comforting and encouraging him. That alone makes his nerves settle, fortifying Rick to buck himself up and just push through it because, if he's going to write a book and make it authentic, he's likely going to see far worse than this.

Maybe not as brutal and senseless, but murder is born of violence more often than not. It's one of the worst parts of the human condition.

"No, no, I'm okay. I just needed a minute," he replies, dragging his own strained smile for Kate and lumbering to his feet with an ungraceful hand gripping along the wall. She waits him out, hands stuffed into the pockets of yet another coat - he's dying to see just how many she owns and what sort of closet she must have to store them - this one sleek and navy blue, cinched tightly at her waist to accentuate her figure in a way that's entirely distracting.

"If you're sure," Kate murmurs, tipping her head towards the two officers that flank the apartment entrance in a gesture that they should get moving, "Lanie's removing the body now and its…well, its hard to watch."

That is certainly something he doesn't doubt, though Rick is bolstered slightly at the opportunity to meet the Medical Examiner that he's heard a great deal about, albeit it from Beckett and Ryan. Esposito has generally remained silent, that familiar purse of his lips radiating what he thinks might be equal parts disapproval and frustration. His entrance to the precinct ride-along had come at the back end of another case, leaving only a couple hours observing his assigned pair as they laid out the evidence and got the man to break.

And paperwork. He'd been introduced to the mountain of it that required completion - in triplicate, no less - after every case, and even a plea to his pseudo-girlfriend had gotten him nothing but a shrug and pat on the shoulder.

"So I finally get to meet the famous Lanie Parish," he says, "Ryan wasn't sure if she would be here considering she's….well…."

"Pregnant," Kate supplies, eyes flashing her amusement at him, "You can say it."

"Yeah, that," Rick counters, brain hedging on the rest of his thought as another, slightly more important clue nudges to the forefront, "Speaking of people who shouldn't be here - why are you here?"

They've crossed underneath the police tape stretched across the door before she answers him with a sigh, eyebrows knitted together with frustration at words he has yet to hear. "High profile case, Castle. You've seen the articles about the home invasions, they beat a man to death a couple weeks ago. This is the fourth robbery, the second death, in three months, all in different parts of the city, victims have no obvious connection to one another beyond living in higher end buildings and being wealthy. No pattern to them, no solid leads, and now they've come to us…"

"You are here for PR, media control…" he replies, seeing the distaste flash across Kate's face with her nod. Lip service for the people in charge downtown.

"Mmm, as the Captain, I get to talk to the media. Assure the people of New York that we're doing everything we can to solve this case and prevent another murder from happening," she shrugs as she says it, lips twisting in a half-hearted smile, "And that's true but…."

"You miss investigating, being the one canvassing for clues and putting together the evidence."

When Rick says it, it's a statement, not a question and he can see the flare of heat in her eyes, that inexplicable passion that keeps him on his toes lurking just under the surface. She doesn't need to answer him.

Instead, Kate throws herself into the scene, questioning Ryan, and Esposito in turn for the basic information on their victim. Susan Delgado, a socialite with connections to the arts and a seeming fondness for small conservation projects. His attention goes towards the petite woman who remains on her knees next to the body despite her swollen stomach, gingerly tweezing what looks to be black fibers from an arm that's unnaturally bent.

"Doctor Parish, I'm Rick Castle," he says, kind smile in place as Lanie's brown eyes flick up from the victim to take him in with a gaze that is equal parts interested and suspicious.

"The writer who has Kate Beckett all hot and bothered. Yeah, I know who you are," Lanie replies, a slight tilt of her head making his eyes widen as the woman is clearly measuring up his back half with that overly observant stare, "You can call me Lanie. Any man who makes Kate smile like she has this past week is a friend of mine."

That statement pulls a resulting smile for Rick, one that's perhaps too much towards giddiness that strictly appropriate for a crime scene but he can't help it because Kate's been talking about him to a friend which can only mean good things for wherever it is they're headed.

"What has she told you?" he questions her immediately, Lanie's small laugh of amusement the final thing to prick at his ears before the strangled cry fills the room.

The young woman standing at the door is young, maybe five years older than Alexis. With her dark hair and blue eyes, she even reminds him a bit of his daughter which makes the stuttering sob she issues at the small glance of the victim all the more heart breaking, tears rolling thick and fast to stain her cheeks with the remnants of her mascara.

"What happened to her?" her voice is raw, horror stricken even as he slides to steps to the left to block her view and Lanie quickly zips the body bag. Kate's already approached the woman, cautious hands at her shoulders to steer her towards what he thinks is a home office where the walls will keep the woman from laying eyes on the crime scene.

"We'll get to that," Kate assures her, "But I need to know your name and your relationship with Ms. Delgato."

"J-Jo," she has to take a shaking breath, forcing her lips to create the words with a conscious effort that Rick can see as he, Ryan and Esposito linger at the open door, "Joanne Delgato. I'm her daughter."

The chill that seems to sweep the room could be his imagination working overtime, but the shadow that passes across Kate's face isn't a figment of his mind. For one instant, she crumples, eyebrows drawing together in tandem to the purse of her lips and a surge of desperation and pain in her eyes. Even her shoulders cave inward, suddenly bearing some silent weight that he can only guess at.

It concerns him even more when he spies the silent look that the other two men in the room share, the way they're suddenly standing at attention like two sentries tasked with guarding a maiden in a tower.

In response, Rick feels his heart leap to his throat, stomach clenching in preparation for whatever storm that suddenly seems to be brewing as Kate grasps Joanne's hands into her own and explains what little they know about the passing of her mother.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: The last two paragraphs features some descriptions of mature themes. Nothing explicit, but heavy implied._

The ringing of the bullets as they leave the chamber of her gun are satisfying. The vibration radiating from the metal in her hands crawls up her arms and torso, loosening some of the tension that's built up over the course of a two day investigation.

On a Sunday morning, the shooting range is largely empty, and Kate doesn't feel bad about reloading her weapon and sinking another round into the target. It's not her best work, not by far, but it isn't surprising when leads keep slipping through their fingers and Joanne Delgato is still living with the knowledge that her mother's killer is out there.

It's a fact that hits too close to home on one of the worst weeks of the year for her. Birthdays might not be as difficult as Christmas or the anniversary of her mom's death, but it ranks up there. Usually there's nothing more than drinks with the boys and Lanie, going home to an empty apartment with a hollow feeling in her chest.

She already feels wrung out emotionally, and her birthday isn't for another fourteen hours. The bullet piercing through the nine ring on the target is but a marginal victory.

"I have good news!" Castle's voice echoes in the space once the clanging of her discharged weapon has gone, the steady pattern of his footsteps telling her that he's close to her selected cubicle even though she can't see him.

Kate is replacing the target with a fresh one when he strolls into the small space, crowding at her back in a way that calls to her frayed nerves. He could comfort her if she'd tear down the wall and let him into the story of her mother's murder but she resists the urge, too afraid of opening up that well that already bubbles close to the surface.

She's had too many years of therapy and analysis of her life choices not to understand that this is a trigger point, that one misstep could send her back into a rabbit hole that she may never crawl out from.

Her father's crutch became alcohol. Kate's became her mother's murder. There's not that much difference in the amount of destruction their mutual obsessions can cause.

"And what news would that be?" she questions once the target is sailing back to the end of the range, the traditional black silhouette waiting for another round of aggressive shooting.

He flashes her one of those little boy smiles, all eager excitement and flushed with pride as Kate holsters her weapon and rests one elbow against the small shelf intended for holding equipment to give him her full attention.

"I know a guy who gave me an idea about this case," Castle begins, those blue eyes sparkling at her in a way that makes her stomach clench with the memory of the three times they've kissed. At some point very soon, they're doing that again.

"Mmm, and is this the guy that you allowed to trespass on my crime scene? The guy that got a look at official photo evidence because you stole the file from Ryan's desk when you delivered two orchestra seats to _Mame_?"

"Borrowed! I borrowed those, they're already back on his desk!" he stammers at her, eyes wide with surprise and a bit of fear, "I knew Sito would nark on me!"

There's no shortage of delight when he cowers just a bit at the glare she gives him, sounds that she's sure are intended to be words falling out of his mouth until he goes quiet with a frustrated sigh.

"Castle," Kate begins slowly, pushing off from the shelf and taking the one step she needs in the tiny space to bridge the gap between them, "I like you," she keeps her voice husky and soft, the smallest hint of a smile playing at her lips, "I like you a lot, actually," and while that's true, she's also got a commitment to her job and upholding the law.

Not that it prohibits her from having a little fun.

Already he's giving her that glassy eyed stare, mouth parted just enough that she can scrape her teeth against the full pillow of Castle's bottom lip and Kate presses up against him, bodies aligned in a way that they haven't been since the after party at the public library.

"I-I…I like you too," he stutters, sucking down a deep breath when her lips skim along the tendons of his neck, lingering at the pulse point that tells her his heart is racing until Castle releases a soft grunt, one hand finally lifting to encompass her waist.

That's the arm she grabs, twisting it lightly to get his attention but not enough to hurt or even startle him. The fire is all on her face, a picture of complete business in spite of the pink blush she can feel on her cheeks and swollen lips gained from making out like a teenager, "You bring anyone else to a crime scene unauthorized and you're going to find out how my handcuffs work," she says softly, lips just brushing against the corner of his mouth, "And not in the fun way."

He's still staring at her, eyes a little glassy with want and fantasy when she backs up, smirk firmly painted across her lips with his slow exhale of air, "Tease," he grunts at her, lower lip protruding for the briefest moment.

"Oh, you have _no_ idea," she counters, grin full and bright at the way his eyes darken. A promise that he'll find out one day if she's ever seen one. That shoots a thrill down her spine as she unholsters the gun at her hip, bracing her feet apart and lifting her arms, eyes focused on the goal before she fires at the target.

A round later she's managed one bullet inside the 10 ring, and left several of its friends in the surrounding area.

With her own sigh of frustration, Kate tugs off her headphones, depositing them onto the shelf before discarding the empty cartridge in her gun, "What did your guy say?"

"Seeing comes before wanting," he replies, and she has to pause for a moment, brain spinning to understand the significance of the phrase, "This stolen jewelry isn't the type of thing that you'd see in every day life, these are pieces that you would only wear for a special occasion. A fundraiser, a society event, a wedding. So how do they know who to target?"

The logic of it makes sense, and an angle that they have already considered on a smaller level. She's impressed with it, gives him a smile that he matches while reloading the bullets and replacing the chamber. "And I want to talk to Mitchell."

That gives her pause, their burglar suspect still sitting out his time in lock up while they postpone paperwork. "He isn't involved, Castle, it's a waste of your time."

"I think he knows more than he's saying," Castle tells her with a shrug, "And I think I could get him to open up to me."

Kate is willing to admit that he has a knack for drawing stories out of the even most reluctant of people, but she still hedges on agreeing. Even if his hunch is right, there's a procedure to follow so that any evidence measures up in court. Sending Castle in, even to a jail cell, without an officer could be a problem.

"You wear a wire and only question him if he's willing to talk. If he says no, you leave," she replies, smile tugging at her lips when he punches the air with his excitement, swooping in just plant a quick peck against her mouth.

"Thanks, Captain," he mutters, wiggling his eyebrows at her upon letting her go. "If I hit the target can we make out for real?"

* * *

><p>"Yo, Beckett, your boy needs a bag of ice," Esposito's call is loud enough to be heard over the din of the homicide floor that is packed with on-duty officers, detectives, and a myriad of witnesses, family, and other mishmash that seem to find their way up to the bullpen.<p>

She's just turned her attention from a conversation with L.T., one of the better officers in Homicide and her next selection for the bump up to detective when the time comes, when Ryan and Esposito haul their home invasion ring leader across the elevator threshold. Castle shuffles in just behind them, left eye red and purple, shiny where the skin has started to swell.

"What the hell happened!" she's questioning her two detectives first, pointedly ignoring the first bump that Esposito gives L.T. when he walks past.

"He didn't stay in the car."

"That's not true, he tried to stay in the car. This guy just pulled him out of it and punched him," Ryan explains it all with an air of amusement and awe that almost makes Kate's lips twitch into a smile as Rick slumps into the chair that alternates time between the desks of the investigators. "He took it like a man."

Close your eyes, count to ten, Kate tells herself. The attempt to reign in her emotions only works marginally, but enough that she passes the signed documents back to L.T. with a strained smile and sends the man on his way before she approaches Castle. "How exactly did he pull you out the car?" she asks, fingers gentle where they touch under his chin to angle his head to the light. Under the ancient fixtures in the precinct, the whole thing looks a sickly yellow shot with strands of red lines and purple smudges.

"Well, he had a gun. I actually smacked him with the door when I was exiting, trying to delay until one of the boys could get there and cuff him. The punch was just taking one for the team," he tries to smile at her when he makes the joke, wincing instead when the action interferes with the swollen knot of skin, "Looks worse than it feels, I promise."

"Still, you need some ice," she sighs, taking the chance to caress his jaw with her fingers in what she hopes can be a soothing motion, "Come with me."

Five minutes later, Kate has him sitting in a chair with a small bag of ice resting against his temple and a cup of coffee. Coffee that he has no interest in drinking from the look on Castle's face, " You can relax, you know, its just a swollen eye."

The urge to snap at him is immediate, welling up from that same place which has steadily ached with loss and grief since this case started. It's as sharp as it was fifteen years ago when she was nothing more than a young woman with the world laid out before her, but in some ways its even worse because, over a decade later, the well of pain is deep, swift and never ending.

Kate doesn't feel as if she's accomplished much at all, that ten years from now she'll still be sitting somewhere on her birthday, lonely and said with a room full of people. "And it could have been a bullet, Castle." she replies, tone edged with a brittleness that the rise of his eyebrows tells her he's picked up on, "Don't make light of this. That guy could have pulled a gun on you and shot you, then where would you be?"

With the silence that fills the room, thick with the unspoken thought of how they initially met, she takes a seat across from him, fingers working at a knot of tension that has created a steady, dull throb directly behind her left eye. All she can think of is the sound of the gunshot, the heavy thump of his body on the ground, the smell of blood even as he told her it'd be okay, that she was worth it.

Did her mother think it was okay as she lay dying in an alley? That Kate and her father would figure it out in her absence? If so, she was wrong because fifteen years on, she isn't sure she's managed to get a thing right.

Birthdays are meant to be happy. This year, she just feels like a failure.

"I'm sorry, Kate. I didn't think about it like that….." Castle's voice is soft, authentic with the apology that shines in from the one eye not hidden by ice. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, it doesn't take Freud to understand what is what with you and this case. It reminds you of your mother, I know."

That stab of grief grows in triplicate with her words, forcing Kate to close her eyes and bury the emotion behind those iron walls that keep her at arms length from everyone. The reminder of the obvious hurts, the picture of Joanne Delgato's devastated face a mask of the one that so often stares back at her in the mirror.

She thought there'd be some comfort in finding one murderer, but there isn't. She still aches. She still wants to rage at the world and crumple into a ball and just cry for what she's lost.

Instead, she holds on to her anger and frustration bringing her to her feet, "You don't know me Castle. You've been here a week, I've lived with this for years. Don't try and psychoanalyze me to get more story for your book."

"No, I wasn't…." he's suddenly on his feet too, tossing the half melted bag onto the floor as she hitches her bag onto her shoulder.

"Weren't you?" Kate challenges him quietly, "Maybe not intentionally, but you are trying to fix a problem that you don't understand and you can't do that. Not if you are going to be here long term, not if we are…" she stops herself by pressing her lips together, holding in on the words and releasing them with a sad sigh.

"I'm going home, I'll see you tomorrow. Tell Esposito and Ryan we'll meet some other time."

* * *

><p>In an hour of reading, Kate's managed one page of a book that once provided her comfort and hope. Tonight it just fills her with loneliness and regret, the words blurring on the page when her thoughts stray to the wounded look in Castle's eyes when she'd left him in her office, of the grief in Joanne Delgato's when she'd delivered her mother's locket to the woman and informed her that her mother's killer was now in custody.<p>

Justice for other people, but never for her own mother. Most days it's enough. Most days she can live with knowing that another family won't toil away years in a private kind of agony.

Today, her thirty-fifth birthday, its so far from enough that its laughable. Serving justice has just opened the chasm wider, leaving Kate clinging to the edges so that she doesn't go down the rabbit hole.

She won't open the shutter with her mother's case decorated across the edges. She won't stare at the photos until her eyes grow hazy with tiredness. She won't lose herself to it.

Even as Kate tells herself she won't, deep down she knows that she will.

When the knock comes at her door her fingers are hovering over her phone screen, debating the merits of calling Castle and asking him to come over. If nothing else, she owes him an apology for her reaction and there's just that lingering knowledge that if she'd let him in that Richard Castle would support her to the end of the earth.

He's waiting in the hall when she opens the door, hesitance written all over his face that's directly at odds with the bright balloons tied to his wrist as well as the small cake with 'Happy Birthday, Kate!' written in blue icing, candles reflecting heat and smoke as they dance around the edges.

"No one should be alone on their birthday, Kate," he says before she can find the words, too busy being overwhelmed by the sweet, thoughtfulness of the gesture.

"…..Rick," she croaks out his name around a sniff, playing for time by brushing her hair behind her ear, tugging on the oversized beige sweater that she'd normally never wear with the knowledge that a man was coming to visit, "How did you even know?"

"Esposito told me when I delivered your message. He was upset you cancelled your birthday drinks, apparently he has a present for you that he's dying to see you open," Castle supplies, lifting the cake just enough that she can feel the heat of the candles warm her face, "Make a wish."

She doesn't make one when she leans in to blow out the candles in one go, she doesn't need too, not when the thing Kate thinks she'd wish for is right here in front of her, bringing a much needed sense of joy into a day full of gloom and heartache. The whoop of excitement he gives once the candles have been extinguished tugs a genuine smile out of her. When he swoops in to kiss her she can taste a hint of sugar on his mouth and it makes her think of all the ways she could put the icing on her cake to better use.

"I'm just going to put this inside and then I'll leave you to it, okay? See you tomorrow at the precinct."

Castle's already squeezed himself into the apartment, stumbling a little awkwardly until he orients himself and spies the table where most of her mail and keys usually end up. The cake ends up placed on top of some flyers for a new Chinese restaurant on her block, balloons tied onto the handle of the drawer where Kate keeps her gun.

Once his hands are free, she steps forward, hands rising to cup at his cheeks in the instant before her mouth falls onto his. The grunt of surprise Castle gives is muffled, but it doesn't last long. All too soon he's kissing her back, hands falling to land at her waist and hauling Kate's body against his as teeth and tongues battle for control.

"Thank you, Castle," she tells him when they finally break apart, lips swollen and breaths coming in quick bursts. Even as she talks, Kate's mouth is pressed against his jaw, the scene of his cologne filling her nose. It's not a surprise that she can feel tears pricking at her eyes again, not with the emotional onslaught of the past few days, but she curls against him anyway, arms winding around his waist to hold him against her.

Without heels to give her added height, she feels small and sheltered with Castle's larger frame easily able to accommodate her own. "Of course," his reply comes quietly, curling against the shell of her ear with the bend of his head, lips already at work against the pulse point that thrums just under her jawbone in a way that leaves her listing into him with a hum of encouragement, "If I say I'm sorry are we considering this making up?"

His teeth are nipping at that same sensitive patch of skin with the question, pulling a groan out of Kate with an effortlessness that should be embarrassing. She only angles her head further to the side, sighing with satisfaction at his renewed efforts, lips working on her in a way that she knows will demand a turtleneck for work in order to hide the mark.

Kate doesn't care.

"Yes," she breathes, both an answer and vocal affirmation of what he's doing to her, how the broad lines of his fingers are clutching at her, cautiously sliding over the curve of her backside, dipping under the hemline of her sweater. "Definitely making up."

"Making out," he quips, smirking at her before Kate leans forward to kiss the expression off his mouth, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip in the same instant that she's lifted off her feet. The sensation of being carried, even with her legs wrapped securely around his waist is dizzying and it takes three long strides before their mouths slide apart with a pop, Castle's blue eyes as dark as she's ever seen them while his eyes track her apartment and location her couch.

It the time it takes to situate himself on the piece of furniture, she's managed to work him out of his coat, two fingers diving in to unbutton his shirt at the top two notches. Dipping her head to taste at his skin is natural, teeth and lips exploring and teasing until he's slumped onto her sofa, shifting their lower bodies into a direct frisson of contact that makes her grunt and rock against him.

"Kate….God, stop," he growls it at her, hands gripping hard enough at her hipbones to bruise even though his mouth is gentle, reverent with a kiss that makes her heart want to burst, "We need to…mmm..talk. I have to tell you something first."

She doesn't want to talk, not really. Kate wants to entice him to pin her to the couch and make her forget the day with the roll of his hips and the curl of his mouth. She stills anyway, head lifting to meet his eyes, fingers resting at his cheek, "No, you don't," she replies before he can get started on his apology, "I shouldn't have said that to you. My mother's murder is…..its hard and this case, it falling this week, all of that made it worse. You were trying to help and I snapped at you, said something I had no right to say and I'm sorry for that. But I don't know how to do this with someone, no one has ever gotten…." the words clam up on her then, emotion of memories from past relationships crowding in. Will leaving her for another job, Tom's failure to truly understand why she was so driven to find the person responsible, Josh's look of surprise and sympathy when she'd finally shown him the window in her office.

None of them had treated the situation with respect, just tried to fix her, to make it unimportant and not the ghost that always followed her into a room.

"No one has ever tried to comfort me before, not without attempting to talk me down, to tell me to leave it alone. I just didn't want you to be in another list of people like that," Kate admits its slowly, each syllable drawn up from a place of utter resistance and reluctance. Sharing this part of herself isn't easy. Years of heartbreak have only served to make her all the more shy.

"Never," he whispers the word to her, lips landing just underneath her left eye, "I'd never tell you to stop looking for answers. You deserve to know what happened, Kate. You deserve the closure that you gave to Joanne today. But you were right, I was trying to ply you for information and not entirely because I find you fascinating and sexy," Castle's joke is a little out of place, but she smiles anyway, tight and strained even as his lips brush hers, "And that's wrong of me. I shouldn't try to trick you into giving me background with platitudes, even if I mean them. I shouldn't have made light of something that is very emotional for you. I'm sorry for that."

This time when she kisses him, there's a far deeper emotion behind the slide of her mouth over his. This time she is crying a bit when his tongue explores the cavern of her mouth, hands sliding underneath her top to find warm skin. This time she doesn't stop when her body demands that her hips begin to move, pressure building in delicious spikes that make her moan and gasp against the confined bulge between her thighs.

She only groans her encouragement when he removes her sweater, mouth hungry and open across her breasts. She's panting with want when Castle's fingers slip under her leggings, grunting a curse once they slide home, twisting and curling until her body explodes with a shout of his name, release falling over her in white hot waves of pleasure that steal her breath along with the desperate kisses he paints at her mouth and chest.

And once she's come down from her high, Kate stands on shaky legs, leading him towards her bedroom with one finger hooked into the waistband of his jeans.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Love it, or hate it, I'd still like to know what you think. Don't be shy!_

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><p>Waking up in an unfamiliar place isn't exactly a new sensation. The sounds are different, more ambient noise of the city filtering through windows than would in his own loft. And the sheets feel different, the blanket a heavier weight than his own duvet.<p>

The lingering scents of vanilla and jasmine, a very faint trace of what he thinks might be coffee.

_Kate_.

The memories float back to him then, of the dark green of her eyes as she hovered over him, sweat slick and needy. He knows now that her lower lip getting trapped between those two even rows of gleaming white teeth is the ultimate tell, that noises remain muffled at the back of her throat until the point of no return. He knows how she feels, has the imprint of her skin and the memory of her taste forever embedded into his mind and soul.

With eyes still closed, Rick reaches out for her, already eager to mold himself against Kate and allow himself the luxury of more sleep. His hands come up empty bar a room temperature patch of mattress, the pillow still bearing the imprint of where her head had once been.

"Kate?" his voice is low, scratchy from over exertion and the heaviness of sleep. No answer, not even the subtle tip tap of feet across floorboards.

It's enough to lure him from the warm cocoon of the blankets and into the cooler temperature of her bedroom. Even from his position next to the bed, Rick can feel the slight draft coming from the windows and he wonders how she doesn't freeze in the bitterness of January and February, the months when winter undoubtedly pummels New York into a grumpy reluctance of whipping wind and the regular inconvenience that snow brings.

"Beckett?" Rick tries it again as he slips into his boxers, attempting some mildly clumsy and uncoordinated effort to locate his shirt. In the end, he exits the room bare chested, nails scratching absently at his scalp even as he catches one small ray of light from a lamp in the hallway teasing at the whereabouts of the birthday girl.

Turning the corner into the open expanse of her kitchen and living room, he's jolted awake by her appearance. With her back turned, all he can see is the rumpled cotton of his shirt swallowing her small frame, the endless line of her legs stretched taut to snag two glasses from the top shelf.

The picture she makes stirs up all kinds of thoughts in his imagination, and they leave his hands itching to map the curves of her body again, his ears eager to hear the sound she makes when they find that perfect rhythm that promises a climatic finish.

He only denies himself half of his wants, quickly lumbering forward to plant his hands at her hips, mouth brushing across the now purple patch of skin that he knows is all his doing. A glance at the clock on the stove tells him it's nearing midnight - seven minutes to go until Kate's birthday is officially over.

"Castle, don't," she half laughs the admonishment, her own lips pressing at his cheek, "You'll make it worse. I'm already going to be wearing turtlenecks for a week."

"Shouldn't that give me free reign? You're already marked," he teases, chuckling along with the soft snicker of Kate's laugh. "But really, why are you awake? I thought I'd have exhausted you."

His hands take a lower path with the words, skirting across the top of her thighs with just enough pressure that Kate arches into him with a light hum, toes digging into the wooden floor, "Cocky," she replies, abandoning the task of operating a corkscrew just long enough to swat at the hand now reaching for her ass, "Are you always like this after sex?"

"I dunno, let's go another round and find out," Rick counters her without missing a beat, grinning at the undignified snort that she gives him in tandem with the pop of the cork that announces a new bottle of wine is open and ready for tasting.

"Incorrigible," Kate mutters at him, but he can see the curve of a smile, feel the ease at which she moves to pour a generous amount of red wine into two glasses. In the time he's known her, she's never been this peaceful or relaxed, there's always been some well of tension.

The sight of her like this, sated and bed rumpled, it makes him happy. Here she's only Kate. No Beckett, no daughter mourning a mother, no Captain of a precinct. She's just someone he could grow to love, if given the chance.

Sometimes he thinks he's probably already halfway there.

"I do my best, captain," he says with a wink, taking the offered glass in one hand and following her to the pair of stools at the opposite side of her hybrid kitchen island-slash-stove that tempts him with a million questions. First among them being how and the second being why.

Rick holds his tongue, partially because he's far too absorbed at the sight of Kate running one of those long fingers around the icing on her cake and the pleased little smile on her face when the frosting coated tip is popped into her mouth.

There's also something inherently sexy about how her lips purse around the digit, a definite callback to the things they'd gotten up to in her bedroom. The glint in her eye as she grins at him, white teeth on display, is enough notice that she's done it on purpose despite cutting a healthy piece of the cake for each of them.

They largely eat in silence though the warmth of Kate's body as she stands next to him is a distraction. Each time the fabric of his shirt whispers against his skin he finds it difficult not to snag her at the waist, to press their mouths together so he can learn what she tastes like after a midnight sugar rush of birthday cake and wine.

He doesn't have to wait for long to find out. Not when she's reaching for him once they've both finished their snack, shy in the way her fingers skim along his shoulders and curl into the baby fine hairs at his nape. She kisses him softly, forehead bumping into his own, noses aligned in a sweet eskimo kiss that makes him smile, "Thank you for this," Kate whispers, those same fingers sweeping along his forehead, marking a path along his cheek and across his lips.

"The cake or the sex?" he asks, choosing for the joke rather than the emotional weight that has crept into the room, returning tension into her slender frame. It's a win to see her lips curve upward, to feel to huff of her laugh at his poor attempt to be funny.

"Both," she teases at him, "And for not leaving me alone to mope, for taking the chance and giving me a good memory today. Most people wouldn't bother," Kate's shoulders lift in a shrug, green eyes clouding with some memory that he isn't privy to, though its obvious that the pain and loneliness run deep.

The way he kisses her in response is insistent, a way to say your welcome without speaking a word. Rick pours all of it into the contact, the gentle framing of her jaw with his hand, the soft tug at her lower lip when they break apart.

"You are worth it, Kate. At least you are to me." It's as honest as he's been with a woman in some years, not that he's truly allowed himself the opportunity for a genuine relationship since things busted up with Gina on the second try. One night stands, meaningless flings and the long, hard road to relying on women barely older than Alexis to tease and satisfy him.

He's not a good man, not even an exceptional one, but this woman makes him want to be. For the first time since Alexis boarded a plane to Los Angeles and a permanent life with Meredith, he wants to be better. To be worthy of the exceptional women that have somehow entered his life.

The swallow of emotion that she gives at his words breaks his heart a little, relief and surprise written in the hollows of her face and the flash of her eyes. "That's…..wow," she breaths, a stuttering little laugh escaping her throat as the shine of real tears threaten to fall.

Rick doesn't say anything to that, the words all sound like platitudes or cliches. Sometimes the silence is more telling, more honest that noise.

It's taken him years to learn the value of it. To accept the nuances of the quiet rather than run from it or fill it with noise. Here, in this moment, silence isn't lonely or haunting. It's healing.

Kate becomes the one to break the stillness, fingers drifting along the bare skin of his arm in a way that raises gooseflesh until they tangle with his own. She's solemn when she tugs him off the stool, head gesturing towards some unknown destination.

There's no question about following her. He trusts her implicitly and therefore has no expectations for where they are headed though Rick can admit that pausing at the threshold of her home office would be pretty low on the list. One glance at her is enough to know this is something personal because even with disheveled curls hiding a portion of her face, she's radiating tension, grief and a little fear. There's no easy, smitten Kate now, just a woman who looks like there's a cloud hanging over her.

Rick isn't a stranger to wanting to protect people, but the force with which he wants to drag her back to the kitchen, to kiss her until she's breathless with laughter and a different kind of longing takes him by surprise. Without having to tell him, he just knows she's thinking about her mom again, and it makes him angry that such a stunning, giving woman has to live with this pain.

She doesn't deserve it. She deserves the world on a silver platter.

"...if we're going to do this," Kate begins after clearing her throat, head lifting reluctantly as she swings their joined hands to together to illustrate a point that needed no explanation, "You need to know the whole story. This case….her murder…." she blows out a long breath, eyes staring at some point that Rick is unable to see.

"This has driven me for a long time, Castle. It's almost destroyed my life in a few different ways, and I made a promise to myself a long time ago that it was better left untouched. And I'm not trying to solve it, not actively, but its still all locked away in my head, my heart. I'm not the easiest person to get to know, even under good circumstances, and I don't want you to go into….whatever this is with us with any false pretenses."

Already the tension is tight in his chest, pain for what she's gone through at war with the curiosity of learning the story, but it pales to the shock and emotion when she reaches for the latch on a window shutter that hangs beside her desk.

The catch releases easily enough, and he notices there's a slight shake in Kate's hands as she unfolds the wooden frame. The unfurling is done in a horrifying blaze of glory, dim light cast from the lone lamp in the room that reflects shadows which make the crime scene photos, news print, and note cards written in her blocked murder board script take on a gruesome effect. Every minute detail that's been uncovered or catalogued about the case is on display, waiting for a set of eyes to step forward and devour the offering.

He feels a little sick, slotting himself behind Kate and enveloping her with his arms. Soothing touch, discreet protection that's rather pointless considering the case is now fifteen years old, "You live with this in your house? Kate…."

How? How can she wake up every morning with a photo of her mother's lifeless body hanging in the window?

"Hey, hey," her voice is soft and fingers gentle when they clasp at his, filling the gaps of his hands where they rest against her abdomen, "Having a photo doesn't change anything for me. I've got a dozen others around here with her smiling and happy, and the memories, too. My mom was the glue that held my family together, always the voice of reason and encouragement to stubborn sides and wild streaks," Kate's chuckle is laced with sadness, "I started that board as a way to keep tabs on case developments, a way to drive my obsession and the day I realized it was too much, that it was costing me my own life, I bolted it shut."

Rick can see the hinge at the edge of the shutter, his writer's mind easily conjuring the vision of her with the proper tools, determination and pain in a mask on her face as she put away that part of her life.

"I haven't opened it for three years, Castle. I've wanted too. There have been nights where I've stood in here with my hands on that latch and told myself there was no harm in taking one more look," she shrugs, "But that wasn't true because I….this thing is my obsession, it can swallow me before I even realize I'm close to drowning."

She sighs then, hands squeezing his like he is her anchor in the storm.

"I'm telling you all of this so you can keep me afloat. So that there aren't any secrets between us. This is everything I know on the case, right here for you to read and ask me questions," Kate explains, "And once we finish, I want to put it behind us, can you do that?"

He doesn't even need to examine the information to know that the answer is yes, but Rick still whispers it into her ear as he squeezes her into a tight hug, one light kiss against her neck before his eyes sweep up to the information to soak it all in.


End file.
